half of me
by lucklessforhim
Summary: Thoughts of what we were invade, the miles that stand between, we can't separate...all I am begins with you, thoughts of hope understood. / Jesse-centric. Pre-Jesse/Rachel. / Prequel to "fresh from your war."


_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its characters and I am making no money writing this. It's just for fun. Title and summary taken from "Sister" by The Nixons. (Also, one phrase borrowed from Dark Angel. It was too good to pass up.)_

_**A/N:** Jesse-centric prequel to my story **fresh from your war**. This ignores Quinn's story from BTW. Please, read and tell me what you think! Seriously, comments absolutely _make my day_._

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><p>Jesse stood at the doors to the country club, staring at the golden handles. Stealing a glance at his watch, he realized there were only 10 minutes left. He was just barely going to make it on time. At least, he would once he stepped through the doors.<p>

Straightening his shoulders, Jesse St. James stepped into the lion's den.

It was a peculiar thing, this place. You wouldn't expect it, but there was danger around every corner, covered in silk and accented with baby pink roses. Jesse quietly slipped into the row of seats behind his mother and pretended not to notice the way her shoulders stiffened.

Another mother may have turned around to scold her son about nearly being late to his only sister's wedding, but not Caroline St. James. The St. James family didn't _do_ confrontation. Instead, they put that negative energy into playing golf, redecorating the house to match the cat, and good old-fashioned alcoholism.

Absurd as it was, there was a reason Caroline's jewelry box held a diamond for every fight she and Jesse's father had ever had.

The string quartet started to play Pachelbel's Canon, and Jesse rose from his seat, turning toward the aisle to watch Jillian take her big walk.

Of course, she was gorgeous. Her dark auburn hair had been pinned up. It was classically beautiful, but deceptively intricate. Her dress hugged her body modestly enough for the cultured setting, but just close enough to make her mild-mannered fiancé blush. And as the perfect accessory she was on the arm of a mammoth of a man, their father, Michael St. James.

As she passed by, Jesse took the opportunity to catch her eye and throw her a wink. She smiled back, even wider than she'd been smiling before, thrilled that he'd managed to make it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He smiled, big and bright, at his sister making her way through the crowd.

"Hey, beautiful," he grinned, pecking her on the cheek. "Nice party."

"Thanks," she giggled. "Are you having fun, Little J.?"

"Of course," he responded enthusiastically, smiling at her nickname for him. She hadn't called him that in years and he suspected that she only used it now because of the four glasses of champagne she'd already had.

"Tell me all about New York," she told him firmly. "How are you doing, what's going on? Do you have more than beer in your fridge?" The questions came in a rush, pent up over the months it had been since she'd last seen him.

"New York is fine, I'm fine, I start rehearsals soon, like I told you, and I don't, but I promise to go shopping as soon as I get back," he responded smoothly, answering her questions in the order she'd asked them.

She opened her mouth to reprimand him about not having groceries, he was sure, and he quickly cut her off.

"Jilly. Go have fun. This is your day, stop worrying about me."

She looked over her shoulder to where a group of her sorority sisters was trying to pull her into some kind of special dance that Jesse wasn't even going to pretend to understand.

Jillian put her hands on his shoulders, brushing some lint off his suit.

"_Fine_," she said slowly, reluctantly. "I'll leave you alone for now, but don't think I'm going to forget to check up on you."

Jesse nodded sharply and threw her a salute.

"Yes, _ma'am_."

"Smartass," Jillian accused, rolling her eyes and turning to walk away.

He shrugged in response, fully accepting the title.

"You're dancing with me later!" she threw over her shoulder, leaving no room for argument.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He was watching the festivities from a darkened corner of the ballroom, a glass of scotch and his regrets for company.

By pure chance, maybe even dumb luck, he locked eyes with Quinn Fabray from across the ballroom halfway through the reception. She smiled at him and slowly started wandering over, a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Well, well," she drawled softly, smiling. "Look who it is."

"Hey, I belong here," he countered, effortlessly falling into an old dynamic, smiling back. "How are you?"

"Good," she shrugged easily, bringing the glass to her lips.

He caught sight of a small vintage diamond ring glittering on her left hand in the low light.

"No date?" he asked, nodding to the ring.

"Not really his scene," she grinned.

He looked at the crowd milling about, took note of all the familiar faces.

"Didn't think it was yours anymore either," he commented nonchalantly. He gave her a sidelong glance to gauge her reaction. He knew Quinn's involvement (or lack thereof) in this aspect of her parents' social life was a touchy subject. Even living in New York, he'd heard about her taking a golf club to her dad's Jag last Christmas.

"My mom wanted me to make an appearance," she answered, pulling her gold wrap tighter around her arms. "Plus, Jillian and Frannie have always been close, and I love Jillian so much."

"Everyone does," he commented softly, lifting his glass of scotch to his lips.

She caught the undercurrent of jealousy in his voice, and she had to laugh. It was a soft puff of air, bitter and gone as fast as it came.

"I know how it feels to be the fuck up of the family." She smoothed her hands over the silk band around her waist as she said it, as if she could feel the scars of her past sins marring her skin beneath the layers of her dress.

It occurred to Jesse that they had a lot in common. Their families had been members of the same country club for as long as they both could remember and there had been countless times when he was seated at the same table as her at some event or another. Their fathers played a round of golf together at least once a month. Their sisters were the same age and had been best friends ever since they'd met. It was fate (and a new job) that kept Quinn from attending Carmel as her sister had. If that had happened, who knows how both of their lives might have been changed.

And, yeah, he and Quinn were both the fuck ups of their families. He hadn't had a baby out of wedlock when he was sixteen, but in his father's eyes he might as well have. Following his dreams of acting, and singing and dancing was just ridiculous to his father. Michael St. James (and every father before him all the way back to the War of 1812) was a lawyer, and it was just expected that once Jesse got everything out of his system he would go to law school. That didn't happen, and until it did the elder St. James would never be satisfied.

Yet, despite all the things they had in common, he and Quinn had never been particularly close or even friends. Acquaintances was as far as it ever got with them.

"You know," she commented genially, interrupting his internal pontification, "If I was single, this wedding would depress the hell out of me."

He didn't say anything, just looked over at her and took a gulp of scotch from his glass, no hint of a wince on his features as the liquid burned a path down his throat.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Her purse chose that moment to emit a soft chime, and she hastily handed Jesse her champagne glass so she could open the small clutch and dig through it to fish out her cell phone.

She smiled, biting the edge of her lip as she replied to a text message, and Jesse felt a small pang of jealousy.

"How is Puckerman doing?" he asked, watching her face intently for a reaction.

"Trying to distract himself with baseball." She rolled her eyes, but the grin on her face told Jesse how in love she was with her fiancé, even when he sent her ridiculous text messages.

"Distract himself from what?" seemed like an obvious question to Jesse.

She took a step back and, spreading her arms out, did a slow turn in front of him.

"What do you think?" she asked with a wink.

Jesse threw his head back and laughed, hard. The Quinn Fabray he used to know never used to be this laid back.

"You know, you're a lot more fun these days."

"Back at ya," she grinned, reclaiming her champagne glass and promptly draining the last of its contents.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He managed to dance with her for an entire song, an impressive feat considering how many people were vying for her attention today. But she was his big sister, and all those other people could wait.

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, brushing her off. "I just got my first Broadway role, and even though it's not a lead, I'm still singing and I'll be noticed. Broadway is everything I've been working towards."

"And I'm going to be there for opening night to support you," she said, the _unlike mom and dad_ went unsaid, but he knew it was there, just the same. "But I don't think that's making you happy. You don't look happy."

"I'm fine," he insisted. Because, that was true. He was okay. He looked like hell and was about to start a rigorous rehearsal schedule, but physically he was fine. (And, okay, maybe he was less happy than he kept telling her.)

"Jesse," she said sternly, employing her Big Sister voice. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm...happy enough," he finally responded.

She smiled sadly, her pearl earrings swaying as she shook her head.

"There's no such thing."

He thought about that for a moment as he continued to effortlessly glide with her over the polished wood of the dance floor. She was truly happy, with someone she loved more than life itself.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly, pulling his sister closer. He hoped she would know what he meant, because asking her that, talking about this, was nearly too much for him in this place. He was starting to let his guard down.

She thought for a moment, sighing, thinking through all the memories she'd made with her new husband.

"I knew he was the one for me, because I felt completely comfortable with him. I could spend hours talking to him, telling him my most intimate secrets, all my hopes and dreams. And he just listened, always supported me. He never made me feel like I wasn't good enough."

Jesse thought back to how Rachel had beamed up at him when he showed her his scholarship letter from UCLA. Later that night they'd stayed up on the phone with each other listing all of their dream parts and their favorite musicals. It was effortless, as natural as breathing.

Jillian smiled softly, clearly remembering something very special to her.

"Then, at the same time, we could just be with each other. We could lie in bed together or lie on a blanket watching the stars, and go for hours without saying a single word."

There was a night Jesse clearly remembered from when he dated Rachel. After a late showing of _The Wizard of Oz_ at the drive-in on the edge of town, they ended up parked on a sleepy back road. For hours they sat in the backseat of his Range Rover picking out constellations through the open sunroof. She fell asleep against his chest and he waited until the last possible second to wake her up to drive back. It almost hurt him to have to end the moment. He always promised himself that they would do that again one day.

Jesse sighed, lost in the memory, and like any good sister, Jillian took that as her opening to press the envelope and try to get him to see that he deserved to be happy.

"I just want you to be happy, and you don't need a woman for that," she insisted. "But, I know you, Jess. You hated the apathetic way we grew up and you always said you wanted more. So, what's going on?"

"I don't know," he sighed, lying. He knew there was only ever one person he had felt close to, shared a real connection with. That person was out of his life now, and he had only himself to blame for it.

She looked at him sadly, wanting to fix it just as she used to fix his scraped knees from falls and his bruised ego from playground bullies. But she couldn't.

"Jillian!" her maid of honor called from a few feet away. "We need you over here, hon."

Jillian looked at Jesse, clearly torn. They barely saw each other, and his happiness was way more important to her than a cake-cutting or a garter toss or anything else they could possibly want her for right now.

"I want to finish talking about this with you," she insisted.

"Go," he told her with a peck on her cheek. "I'll be fine. We'll talk later."

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The party started winding down and Jesse finally managed to escape from the two single bridesmaids to the relative safety of the balcony just off the ballroom. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the deep, warm night air, before unbuttoning his vest and loosening his tie, finally relaxing. He sighed wistfully at the sweet scent permeating the air around him, and he let his head fall back to rest against the wall behind him.

"Jasmine," a familiar voice said from a few feet away.

"What about it?"

"You're thinking about Rachel," she rightly assumed.

"What makes you say that?"

"Noah once told me that everyone expects for her to smell like strawberries or coconut, but she always smelled like jasmine to him."

"Yeah. That's pretty much it," he agreed, engrossed in memories that seemed like a million years ago and yesterday all at the same time.

They were quiet for a minute, both looking at the moonlight shimmering off the lake in front of them. Then, Quinn's whispery voice broke through the solitude.

"You should go to her."

"What?" When did _that_ become an option? "I'm sure she doesn't want to see me. Besides-"

"You have a life, she has a life. Different cities. Blah, blah, blah," she said with a delicate, dismissive flick of her wrist. "Listen, she needs you, but she'd never come to you. You broke her heart and then stomped on it. For all of her bravado, Rachel doesn't have the courage to put herself out there with you again. You have to make the first move."

"She needs me?" he asked, honing in on the cryptic phrasing.

"Having someone that loves and accepts you no matter what; someone that understands you better than anyone else in the whole wide world? It's a very good thing, Jesse St. James. Think about it."

And then, before he had the chance to respond, she was gone; the feather light touch of her lips against his cheek was her only farewell.

After she left, Jesse continued to stare out over the lake and thinking about the things she'd said. Quinn Fabray seemed much wiser than people gave her credit for.

_The End._

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><p><em><strong>AN:** What happens next? **fresh from your war** happens next! Please, leave me a review to let me know what you think!_


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